The proprietor ducked under the counter for his spurs and his rifle, and Loudon hurried out. Cutting's mount, the bay he had bought from Doubleday, was of course standing where he had been left among the other horses. Loudon threw the dropped reins over the bay's head and swung up.

"He's a hoss thief!" he shouted to Dan Smith and Jim Mace. "He got away on my hoss!"

Quirting and spurring, Loudon tore down the street. Before the horse's hoofs spattered the water of the ford the proprietor of the Chicago Store and the marshal were galloping in his wake. Jim Mace and a score of others followed at intervals. A horse was not stolen in Paradise Bend every day. The inhabitants were bent on making the most of their opportunity.

The bay was a good horse, but Ranger was the better, and Loudon knew it--knew, too that, unless Ranger fell down, Cutting would escape.

"Ranger's good for all day," groaned Loudon. "All day an' not strain himself a little bit."

As the bay flashed across the top of a rise two miles beyond the Dogsoldier, Loudon glimpsed two specks four miles ahead.

"Block! He's with Block!" exclaimed Loudon, and drove in the spurs.

The bay leaped madly forward and rocketed down the long slope. A high-lipped swell concealed the two specks, and for a long ten minutes Loudon rode between the sides of the draw. The bay charged at the high-lipped swell with undiminished vigour. He was doing his level best, but his gait was tied in. It bore not the remotest resemblance to Ranger's free-swinging stride. When Loudon reached the crest of the swell the specks had vanished.

He put the reins between his teeth and drew the Winchester from the scabbard under his left leg. He threw down the lever a trifle. There was a cartridge in the chamber.

The loading gate resisted the pressure of his thumb. There was at least one cartridge in the magazine, but by the weight of the rifle he judged it to be fully loaded. Loudon returned the Winchester to its scabbard and slowed the willing little bay to a lope.

"Yo're all right, old hoss," he said, "but yuh can't never catch that hoss o' mine. Not in a million years. We just got to wait till he stops."

Rufe Cutting could have devised no better revenge than the stealing of Loudon's horse. Since Loudon had owned Ranger no one save himself and Kate Saltoun had ridden him. Ranger's legs were frequently hand-rubbed. Ranger was curried. With his fingers--no true horseman would dream of using the comb of commerce--Loudon frequently combed Ranger's mane and tail. When a horse in the cow country is curried and combed, that horse is a highly valued horse. Johnny Ramsay accused Loudon of wrapping Ranger in blankets when the air was chilly, and of taking his temperature on all occasions. Undoubtedly Loudon was somewhat of a crank where Ranger was concerned.

And now the inconceivable had come to pa.s.s. Ranger had been stolen--stolen almost under the very nose of his master. Loudon did not swear. His feeling was too deeply grim for that. But he promised himself an accounting--a very full accounting.

Loudon rode onward at a steady lope. Before him stretched the dusty ribbon of trail. Blank and bare it led between the low hills and lifted over the ridges. He saw no more specks ahead. The quarry had outdistanced him.

Fifteen miles out of Paradise Bend he heard a faint shout in his rear.

He looked over his shoulder. A half mile distant two men were galloping toward him. One of them waved an arm half red, half blue.

"Scotty," muttered Loudon, and checked his horse.

The two clattered up, their horses' out-blown nostrils whistling. One of the men was the owner of the Flying M. The other was the proprietor of the Chicago Store.

"Seen him?" demanded Scotty.

"Once," replied Loudon. "He's ridin' with Block now, but they pulled away from me. I ain't seen 'em for over a hour."

"They're stickin' to the trail," grunted the store proprietor, who rejoiced in the name of Ragsdale, glancing at the hoof-marks in the dust.

"C'mon!" snapped Scotty Mackenzie.

Three miles farther on Ragsdale's mount began to falter.

"He's done," growled Ragsdale. "Give 'em one for me."

Ragsdale halted. Loudon and Scotty Mackenzie rode on.

"Where did yuh get that bay?" queried Scotty, eying the Flying M brand on the bay's hip.

"It was his--Cutting's," replied Loudon.

"Cutting's? Djuh mean Rufe Cutting is the hoss thief?"

"Sh.o.r.e! I clean forgot yuh didn't know about Cutting's quittin' his job."

Loudon explained the manner of the cook's departure and his subsequent actions to Mackenzie.

"An'," said Loudon, in conclusion, "I seen that feller at the 88 that time I bought my hoss from Blakely."

"Yuh did! Are yuh sh.o.r.e?"

"Sh.o.r.e as yo're a day old. I was walkin' past the bunkhouse with Blakely, an' this fellah was out in front with his shirt off a-washin'

himself, an' I seen a eagle tattooed on his chest in blue, an'

underneath a heart with a R on one side an' a T on the other. Just before yore cook pulled his freight his shirt got tore, an' I seen his chest, an' there was the eagle an' the heart an' the two letters R an T. I knowed when I first laid eyes on him up here at the Flyin' M that I'd seen him some'ers, but I couldn't place him till I seen the tattoo-work. It all come back to me then."

"What was his name at the 88?"

"I never knowed. I never cut his trail again down there. He wasn't one o' the reg'lar outfit. I know all o' them."

"Did Cap'n Burr see him?"

"No, he didn't. I remember now, when the Cap'n come this fellah wasn't in sight, an' he didn't show up again while we was there. Cap'n Burr left when I did."

"Cutting worked for me nigh onto a year. He's always earned his pay.

Never done nothin' out of the way."

"I dunno what it means. It's all a heap mysterious--special mysterious when yuh come to think o' what O'Leary asked me when I first hit the Bend. 'Couldn't Sam come?' says O'Leary to me. Busts out into the street to say it, too, right after I'd asked yuh the way to Cap'n Burr's house."

"I remember," said Scotty, thoughtfully. "I seen him talkin' to yuh.

I thought yuh knowed him. I wonder who he took yuh for?"

"One o' Blakely's outfit, o' course," replied Loudon. "It was that 88 brand o' Ranger's done the trick for him like it done for you.

'Couldn't Sam come?' says he. Then he says, 'It's all right. I'm Pete O'Leary!' When he seen I didn't understand him none, he got gun-shy immediate an' wandered. An' he didn't forget me a little bit.

Telescope told me that he'd been tryin' to find out if you'd hired me.

One day he come out to the ranch an' stopped just long enough to say howdy. Wanted to make sh.o.r.e I was there, see? What do yuh make of it?"

"Nothin'--yet. We got to wait an' see what happens."

"Seein' what happens may be expensive. I tell yuh flat, Scotty, Sam Blakely has got somethin' under the table for yuh. He's aimin' to put a crimp in yuh. Yuh can go the limit on that."

"There ain't nothin' certain about it."

"O' course there ain't. Sam ain't goin' to give himself away. I wish you'd let me Injun 'round some an' see what's up. I think, maybe, yuh'll save money if yuh do."

"Well, I dunno----" hesitated Scotty.

"O' course," said Loudon, quickly, "Blakely's got it in for me. But whatever he's cookin' up for you he thought of before I ever rode north. My comin' north has sort of upset his plans. He knows I know all about him, an' he wants to shut my mouth before he turns his bull loose."